Acquiescence Of Silent Souls

Hopes and dreams squelched into
Patterns of mundane conformity

As robotic workers punching
Time clocks squeeze out creativity

Pulvarized into fine powder
Filling bags hermetically sealed,

Cut off from inner self, what was
Once dynamic becomes static...

No mere feeling can punch through
Layers of repose dying to everything,

Acquiescence of silent souls...
Graveyard of a million stars.

By: Cheryl Ellen Baxter (c)